I’ve Run Out of Port Puns. My Port Is Annoying Me.

This port and I be having problemmmmms this week.

Yeah, you! Sticky-taped needle in my chest!

You itch like a motherfucker.

And the only way you would work this week was if I pressed you into my chest really hard. Which is hard to do non-stop for forty-five minutes while I’m trying to do a bag of saline. I’m not made of arm strength, you know!

My usual nurse didn’t do it this week, and I’m not pointing any fingers, but I’m just saying when Marilyn does it things just run smoothly. But next appointment I have to start trying on how to stick myself with the needle. Color me excited at the idea of jabbing myself in the same spot ten times over before I get the right angle!

You and I are going to have a little discussion about just how easily an IV can tip over when you want something yanked out of your chest.

(Or maybe less violent evictions.)

(Because that shit has totally happened and I yelped the kind of yelp you would yelp if someone just reeled you up on a fishing pole by your boobs.)

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